


Belonging

by SunlightZone



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24895423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlightZone/pseuds/SunlightZone
Summary: He hears your voice before he sees you.The others meet you upon your arrival, but Mammon doesn't see why he should ditch his plans for some random exchange student. Leave that to people who actually give a fuck. Like Lucifer and his continuous bootlicking, or Satan and the giant stick up his ass. Maybe even Asmo. That fucker is sure to enjoy toying with a human.He's busy selling feigned copies of last year's exam to some nerds at the RAD when his D.D.D. lights up. He doesn't realize it's you, the exchange student, until halfway through the call.
Relationships: Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Chraracter(s), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 102
Kudos: 800





	Belonging

He hears your voice before he sees you.

The others meet you upon your arrival, but Mammon doesn't see why he should ditch his plans for some random exchange student. Leave that to people who actually give a fuck. Like Lucifer and his continuous bootlicking, or Satan and the giant stick up his ass. Maybe even Asmo. That fucker is sure to enjoy toying with a human.

He's busy selling feigned copies of last year's exam to some nerds at the RAD when his D.D.D. lights up. He doesn't realize it's you, the exchange student, until halfway through the call.

Your voice is soft and a bit wobbly, but there's an odd conviction to it as you say, “Let's be friends.”

Mammon sputters, laughs. That's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, both the friends and the being friends with a human part. He tries to make it clear to you that he's having none of that.

And then there's Lucifer counting down in the background and Mammon knows he's in trouble if he doesn't get there fast.

* * *

After that, you're nothing but a bother. Just another means for Lucifer to demonstrate his superiority.

Mammon doesn't care for the job of your babysitter and he sure as hell won't be reduced to playing effin' tour guide for a stupid, wide-eyed human.

He wrecks his brain for things he's gotten up to recently, any reasons for why he'd possibly deserve a punishment as shitty as this.

Too many come to mind, though he thinks that he'd be condemned to something much more severe if Lucifer knew about the bills he'd stashed away between the pages of a textbook he never opens otherwise. A quick shiver of fear runs down his spine as he thinks of the possibility of Lucifer finding them, but he discards the thought immediately. He'd pay them off eventually, he just had to hit it big while gambling this weekend.

Right now, Mammon has other things to worry about. Things much more annoying and harder to ignore, such as you waddling after him like a duckling would its mother.

Maybe it's just another attempt at mockery, wouldn't be the first time he'd be at the receiving end of his brothers' ridicule. Whatever it is, him being your designated chaperone once again leaves him feeling like the butt of the joke and not only in the confines of their fucked-up imitation of a family.

Yeah, he isn't quite as stupid or careless as others make him out to be. He's well aware of the eyes following them through the corridors of the RAD or the whispered sneers taking the piss out of him. 

“Look at Mammon. Being a human's underling suits him much better than being an Avatar does.”

“I've heard that he was some coven's plaything before, but now he's gone and turned into a human's bitch? What an embarrassment for a demon.”

Mammon hears these things, but he tries not to listen to them. In the Devildom, barbed words and harsh insults belong to the standard day-to-day. So what if he reaps a bit more of them then the next guy? He's the second strongest and if there are any other reasons for it beside that, he does not want to know them. Instead, he squares his shoulders, keeps his head down, and marches on.

“Her soul isn't even anything special.”

“I know, it reeks foul.”

He's so focused on blocking their voices out, he doesn't realize that your soft footsteps have stopped until he's taken a few further steps ahead. When he turns, he sees you standing still, chin turned up high and eyes hard as you stare at the two shitbags that were running their mouths.

It's the first time he's seen you look so fierce. It's a stark contrast to your usual confused bumbling about.

His gaze sticks for a long second before he drags it away from you and towards the two demons. Both of which raise their brows and puff up their chests, daring you to say something.

He should let them tear you to shreds, show Lucifer what good it would do to give a fuck-up like him such unwanted responsibilities. Yet he knows that he will step in if necessary, readies himself for it.

Turns out he doesn't need to.

You hold their gazes for a beat longer, unyielding, and mysteriously the demons let you be, merely mumble vile words as they advert their gazes.

Mammon watches you, dumbfounded. The smile you send him as you return to his side is the same slightly hesitant but goofy grin you've worn since your arrival four days ago.

He wonders what those demons must have seen in you to make them back off so easily, sneaks a few glances in case it's still there somewhere.

Only remembers to increase his stride and draw ahead when you catch him looking.

Warmth floods his cheeks and he snaps at you, tells you that you should keep out of trouble, it's already annoying enough as it is, having to look after you.

You stay silent, but he can still feel that doe-eyed stare boring into the back of his head.

It's unnerving.

* * *

Days pass and you speak up more, your voice louder and clearer now, echoing off the walls of the House of Lamentation in a way that makes it hard not to take notice of.

It bounces off cold stone, slithers its way through cracks, disturbs old dust and rattles carefully built upon layers of detachment.

Having an eternity at hand, it's worthless to keep track of time. Mammon decided this long ago, since determining the worth of things is what he does best. That's why he can't tell the exact amount of years that have passed, only knows that they've been here longer than he cares to remember.

Despite that, that damned house has never actually felt this lived in.

It's irritating, how you cut through the monotony of their everyday lives. Suddenly everything feels just that little bit off. It's like waking up one morning to find all your clothes have shrunk to a size too small. Yeah, that is exactly what your presence feels like, annoying little pinches, an irritation of skin, a fit that suffocates.

Mammon scowls and tries not to pay attention too closely as you and Beel discuss the different snacks of the human realm and Devildom across the dinner table from him. He finds himself listening in anyway, wondering whether that senseless stuff is actually interesting to you or if you're really just humoring Beel.

Whichever it is, any reservations you've had before are seemingly gone now, your smile just as easy and free as his brother's is.

They're not a real family, not by blood, and certainly not in any other sense of the word. Perhaps there'd been a time like that once, but the others never really considered him their big brother even then. Mammon knows that, yet he still feels the corners of his mouth pull down in disapproval at seeing Beel be so openly trusting of you.

Shit, fine.

Maybe it's kind of exciting, having you around. He can admit that much. What good is forever if everything's always the same anyway?

But he's sure that it's only a matter of time for you to show your true colors. Whatever goody-two-shoes act you're getting at will drop eventually.

No way you're actually interested in getting close to them. You must hate them secretly.

Nobody would be idiotic enough to forgive being ripped from their world to this fucking shithole. There's only darkness and ugliness here. Maybe you're just too dependent and too afraid to show them the true disgust you must feel.

Thing is, you don't look that way. In fact, you look anything but afraid and that too sits wrong with him.

Are you perhaps too dumb to understand who they are, the things they've done? How many humans they've seduced into selling their souls for senseless crap and temporary gratification, simply by whispering some pretty lies into their ears?

Humans just like you.

Okay, maybe not exactly like you. You're pretty hard to read, he gives you that.

Mammon's sure though, if he'd figure out what it is you crave, you'd be just as easy to corrupt as the rest of them.

“Do you have popcorn in the Devildom?”

Mammon looks up from the food he was pretending to eat and sees your eyes light up as Beel affirms that indeed they do and immediately follows up by rattling on about all the ways in which one can flavor it.

“Then, should we have a movie night tonight? I'd like to see what's popular around here.” You're practically brimming with excitement, eyes ping-ponging between his brothers, all of which are perking up one by one.

They're donning out title suggestions and you're nodding along to them, that is, until your expectant gaze settles on him.

Mammon resists the urge to look away, but barely so.

“What kind of movies do you like?” you ask him.

He's about reply with something cool, like that he's all about action and explosions and stuff, but Asmo is faster than him, “Mammon is into sappy romance stories. I've seen him bawl his eyes out over them. Can you imagine?”

Embarrassment rushes through him and he finds himself yelling in a familiar knee-jerk reaction, “Shut it, Asmo! 'S not true, I only like them 'cause the leading lady's usually a hot chick, capiche?!”

Asmo's still snickering, even as he rolls his eyes in obvious disbelief. Lucifer just groans and tells him to keep the volume down, whereas Satan makes some remark about how Mammon probably identifies with the coy heroines of said movies. All the while Levi's scrolling through his D.D.D. in search of a video of said incident, but not without going off on his supposedly poor taste in media.

Beneath the table, Mammon digs his nails into his palms.

He's not upset, he's just annoyed by them piling in on him. Their jokes are lame, and he's got better things to do than this. Being upset would mean he cares and the great Mammon does not care. He’s the second strongest. He doesn't need them, or anyone, really.

However, you too must be well aware of this dynamic by now and he doesn't want or need to see some stupid human laugh at him too. When he risks a glance at you, you're not laughing though.

Anger spikes and it's replacing the embarrassment. If that's pity in your eyes than you can shove it. A mere human like you probably can't even begin to imagine all the ways in which a demon can destroy your kind. He’s about to inform you about some of them, if it only means that you never look at him like that again, but then—

“I do that too, cry at movies, I mean. Sad music begins to play, and _bam_ , open the floodgates.” You smile sheepishly. There's no pity in your tone, instead, you almost sound shy.

Mammon drops his gaze, scowls harder, suddenly thinks that he'd have preferred it if you would have been laughing.

* * *

He hates you. Or at least he thinks he should.

Maybe he hates that he doesn't hate you all that much, despite tricking him into a pact and all that. It sucks to have someone have that power over him, and it sucks big time that the others won't stop pestering him about it.

However, if Mammon's totally honest with himself, something which he rarely cares to be, he didn't really resist the pact all that much.

It could be a chance to expose the bad and ugly inside you, to wait for the moment you'd misuse that power. Or maybe it is precisely because he's beginning to think that you wouldn't do that, that he went along with it so damn easily. 

Anyway, it's all really confusing. Even knowing Goldie to be back in his possession doesn't ease his mind like it usually does.

So he spends his days waiting for you to call on the pact, imagines different scenarios of how you could intend to make use of it. None of them feature you ordering him to call you by your name though. 

Unbeknownst to you, it isn't the first time he speaks it. He's tried it out already. Has said it into the darkness of his room while lying in bed at night, just to know what it feels like. He feels so fucking dumb when he thinks of that, even more so when he must repeat it to your face.

Mammon's tongue feels clumsy, his mouth too full. He totally butchers every single syllable.

It doesn't sound at all like the melodic tilt Asmo tends to use, or the husky breath of air in which Lucifer refers to you, not even close to Satan's silvery rendition of your name. No, he sounds like a stuttering child, who's been caught with its hand down the cookie jar.

You don't look too happy either and you're both quiet as you make your way back to class.

Mammon doesn't listen to the lecture, only slides his hand into his pocket and traces his fingers over Goldie’s flat surface. It isn't until his D.D.D. vibrates that he snaps out of that trance.

You've never texted him during class before and his brow furrows at where you're sitting to the front of the class, your hair obscuring your face.

Mammon opens the message, uncaring if anybody sees him fiddling with his D.D.D., since they all think of him as a lost cause anyway.

 _I'm sorry,_ it starts. _If I really annoy you that much, I'll try not to bother you as often._

There's a strange twisting in his gut and he hammers out a reply before he can think better of it.

_Are you stupid?! Ya forget who you're talkin to? Who can handle a human so damn annoying if not the great Mammon._

He's bouncing his leg up and down as he observes you, waiting for you to read the message.

When you do, he holds his breath until you turn and send him a long look over your shoulder. Mammon snorts at your gradually growing smile, at how pleased and silly it looks, tries to ignore how he can feel his own lips curve into an answering grin.

You both continue to exchange meaningless chitchat over text messages, glancing at each other ever so frequently, it continues right up until the teacher catches you doing so.

He scolds you in front of everyone and it has you fumbling for words, so much so, that Mammon laughs so hard he gets kicked out of class.

* * *

A few days later, you rope him into helping you battle Levi for that TSL soundtrack. And Mammon spends the following days camped out in your room powering through all the TSL episodes.

It doesn't feel weird to be there anymore. Instead, and he struggles when he thinks of the words, because they’re not something a demon should have in their vocabulary, but fuck it, it feels _cozy_ and _comfortable_.

You drape a blanket over the three of you with Beel to your left and him to your right, your elbows knocking into each other as you pass the snacks, and he finds out that you really weren't lying when you said that you cry at movies.

The wet sheen blurring your eyes makes him wonder whether he was wrong after all. Perhaps there's really nothing malicious behind your soft-hearted and kind exterior. But then again, Mammon's sobbing too and he's neither of those things.

During one episode, late into the night, you begin to lean in closer to him and whisper a running jokey commentary. Mammon knows that you're only mindful of Beel who's already dozing off beside you, his hand still hanging into the bucket of popcorn. And yet, the breathy cadences of your voice scuttle across his skin like spider legs.

It's then, with you leaning into him, drawing a ridiculous comparison between Lucifer and one of the Lords, the quiet laughter at your own bad joke nothing but small puffs of air, that Mammon realizes he wants you.

He pictures closing the gap between you two. It would be easy to. He can feel your warmth radiating all along his side already. Suddenly he wants so very badly to feel more of it, to press you down and cover your mouth with his, envisions prying it open with his tongue and stealing those soft sounds from you.

Your hand lands on his forearm and Mammon almost jumps. He must look spooked, because your eyes grow wide as you say, “Is everything okay? You were zoning out.”

Shit, he already knew he was scum, but he didn't know that he'd become this pathetic too. To lust after the very first person to show him a little bit of kindness, and a human at that. 

Mammon scowls, mumbles, “Geez, are you a human or a freakin' furnace, move away a lil' won't ya?!”

“But it's _so_ comfy,” you tease and laugh, the sound clear as a bell as you move closer and rub yourself all over his shoulder and arm. Mammon yelps and pretends to struggle against it. The ruckus shakes Beel awake, but he only blearily blinks into your direction and then promptly continues to shovel popcorn into his mouth.

After two more episodes, Mammon leaves.

He hopes it doesn't look too deliberate when he leaves some of his stuff behind. He's not even sure what he's attempting by doing so. It's like he's some sort of dog pissing up a tree to mark his territory.

He scoffs at the mental image, tells himself that he's above childish stuff like that, but it feels hollow.

* * *

Greed is just another part of him. Like his arms or legs, or even that no good brain and heart of his.

No one considers the mechanics of their limbs when using them, they just do. It's much the same with his greed. It's just there.

Mammon wants, and wants, and wants. And whatever he does, he knows it won't ever be enough, that he'll go right back to feeling empty and wanting. Still it feels good to indulge in short-lived fixes.

These days you and Levi got your own little pact going on and aside from that you're spending an awful lot of time with Satan, Asmo and Beel, the latter which you're even sharing a room with for the time being.

Mammon thinks it's funny. He's talked enough shit before, boasted about being the better demon in that never-ending pissing contest between him and his brothers, but it may really come true after all.

Fuck embodying a single sin, he's got it all now. Feels greed, envy, and lust whenever he looks at you. Feels just short of wrath when he thinks about how he's not enough of anything to ever get you to look at him in that way.

Still, the sensation of wanting is the most prominent one and it's just like his greed to zero in on one thing almost obsessively. And so he's doing all he can to distract himself. The great Mammon won't let himself sulk only because he's desperately yearning for a human's attention.

Currently, he busies himself by counting the cash he made. It's something he tends to do before calling it a day. He likes to imagine all the things he could spend it on, it calms him even when he's in the red, and the only thing good that has come out of all of this distraction-business is that he's gotten more creative in finding ways to make bank.

There's a knock on his door and Mammon quickly hides what he was doing before he goes to answer it. It's late into the night and he doesn't expect any visitors, even less so the very person he was trying not to think about — but there you are. Standing in front of his door, in the middle of the night, amidst the dark hallway.

Mammon props one arm against the frame, makes himself look bigger, anything to squash the nervousness that's bubbling up inside him. It doesn't really help that you're in your pajamas, clutching a pillow to your chest, your hair all messy.

Before he can so much but think on the implications of that, you scurry past him, unimpressed, as if there isn't a moody demon glaring down at you. And Mammon can't do anything but watch as you make a beeline for his bed.

“O-oi, what's this?”

“Did you know that Beel sleep talks? Not normal sleep talking either, nu-uh! It doesn't even sound like him!” You imitate some sort of weird gurgling noise and fluff the pillow you've been holding, drop it onto his bed. “It's like he's possessed or something.”

He watches you plop down onto the mattress and shimmy beneath the blanket as if it's the most natural thing to do, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary for you to sneak into his room and bed.

“Anyway, it scared the crap out of me,” you yawn, rub your eyes, blink up at him. “Please, tell me you don't do that too. It's not a demon thing, is it?”

Mammon stares at you, shakes his head. Swallows once, twice.

“What,” he says.

Snaps louder after that, “What's that gotta do with me? Where 'm I supposed to sleep, huh genius?!”

Your gaze flickers away for a second, but then it's back on him, looking strangely guarded as you pat the spot next to you.

Mammon's not sure what kind of face he's making, too many things are going through his head and he's never been the fastest on the uptake. You must mistake his expression for annoyance though, because you clasp your hands together and fix him with a pout and puppy-dog eyes, “Oh come on, Mammon, please! I'm _so_ tired, I'm begging you. Please, just one night and tomorrow I'll tape Beel's mouth shut before sleep. Please. We're buddies, aren't we? Partners in crime, right?”

Mammon curses, tugs at his hair in frustration.

Hearing you say his name in such a pleading tone sounds way too good, even when you're only half-serious. And fucking great, now he can't stop thinking of all the ways in which he wants to touch you and make you plead with him for real, at this rate he'll be sporting a semi before he's even in the bed with you. Hell, he's really turning more pathetic by the minute.

“Fine! Do whatever y'want! Not like I can stop ya anyway! I tell ya though, one snore 'n that's it! I'll kick you out, pact be damned— no hogging the blanket either!”

He's rambling, he knows he is, can't stop it any more than he can the abrupt climbing of his pulse. You only giggle, your eyes gleaming up at him from where you look so very satisfied as you wiggle deeper into the bedding.

And shit, this is really happening, and— “Shit, I have to get changed. There betta be no peekin', you hear me?!”

The quip earns him some exaggerated hooting and catcalls by you. Mammon's ears burn as he stomps toward his drawer and frantically searches for anything he could wear to sleep— he's used to sleeping in significantly less after all.

When he does find something, he stalls for time. Even puts away his worn clothes into the hamper instead of just shucking them in a far-off corner.

He needs to calm himself. His goddamned heart keeps racing like he's about to soldier into the second coming of the celestial war.

Fuck, how long has it been since he shared a bed like this with someone? Lifetimes ago with his brothers? Never once with a lover. Demons aren't really all about that afterglow or anything beyond a quick fuck, really. And well, he wasn't exactly much of a ladies man back in the celestial realm. Asmo always told him that their fall had been a blessing in disguise for his dating life, that his loudmouthed and crass nature didn't vibe with the more delicate disposition of the celestial folks, but Mammon is not so sure if he fits in any better here. He's neither all that cunning nor does he have a thick enough skin. Down here everything's made of hard edges and he's way too quick to cut himself open on them.

He shakes his head, snaps himself out of it. Shrugs on a shirt and silently tells himself to stop acting like a wimp. And it's only then that he realizes that you've fallen suspiciously quiet behind him.

When he turns, he sees you eying the wall as if it's the most fascinating thing. There’s an unfamiliar hue to your cheeks. One that catches his eye and grows stronger the longer he looks at it.

Were you just…checking him out? Fuck, he's not making you uncomfortable like some sort of creep, is he? No, no, no — it's _you_ who's intruding on _his_ privacy by coming here. But what if…maybe…that's your idea of coming on to him? No, fuck, that's ridiculous. Why would you? There's not much about him worth wanting, but _perhaps_ , if by some chance you do—

Mammon frowns, scoffs, clicks off the lights and with it he shuts down his spiraling thoughts.

Hope is a brittle, dangerous thing. One he has learned not to trust ever since they lost their lives as they knew them and their sister too.

He wants to keep it like that.

Once he's settled in next to you, there's a rustling of sheets.

You must be turning towards him, the movement easy to identify with how you're both beneath the same blanket and the way in which he can feel the mattress dip beneath you. His pulse spikes once more, and he doesn't quite trust himself to look at you, keeps his gaze fixed into the dark nothingness.

“We haven't seen much of each other recently,” he hears you say.

Mammon tries to level his breathing, thinks, it's true. The first few weeks it's been nothing but the two of you, but now you spend your time playing games with Levi, donning face masks with Asmo, reading books with Satan, or doing whatnot. And he can't very well barge into Beel's room as he would yours, can he? That would leave him too exposed.

You're doing your own thing now, don't need him or anybody to show you the ropes anymore. It's clear in the way in which you're carving out space for you wherever you go.

It's him who's left needing now.

Mammon keeps staring at the dark ceiling, clears his throat, mumbles, “I dunno, you think?”

“Hmm…I think so, yes.” A breath of laughter. “Felt way too quiet without you around.” 

His heart thuds heavy in his chest and he thinks of what he would normally say to that, lands on, “Pff, that's what ya get for hangin' with those boring stick-in-the-muds.”

You snort, “They're not boring and you don't mean that.”

He doesn't, not really, but he doesn’t quite get what's got you so convinced. “Hey, 'm not the one who's crying 'bout feeling lonely.”

“There's nothing wrong in admitting to feeling a bit lonely.”

Mammon's gaze jerks toward you. Are you saying this for his sake? Has he been that obvious?

He can barely make out your silhouette, the blanket pulled up all the way to your chin. And of course, your eyes, so bright — especially now that you're lying so close. It leaves him feeling as if he was punched in the lungs, seeing that clear gaze directed at him from beneath his covers, not even an arms-length away from him. It doesn't look like you were intending to imply anything either, no, there's nothing but openness and honesty there. As always, it seems too good to be true.

Mammon licks his suddenly too dry lips, says “T-Then, let’s hang out tomorrow. W-We could ditch class 'n do something fun. Have ya experience some of the Devildom's best.”

Your teeth gleam through the darkness as you flash him a smile. “Are we going to use the money you got by selling Lucifer's private number?”

He flinches, “How do y'know 'bout that?!”

“What can I say?” you say, sounding smug. “Nothing escapes the great—” another yawn interrupts your imitation of his trademark line. You've used it on yourself a few times now. It never once felt like you were mocking him.

“'orry,” you mumble, your eyelids looking heavy as you rub at them. “Some girls in class were trying to piece it together. Really? You're selling it by the digit?”

You really must be tired, yet you keep on talking to him. Mammon smiles, perhaps a bit too soft, glad that it's hidden by the darkness. “It's not his real one either.”

You blink, “Whos is it then?”

“Levi's.”

Your laugh comes quick and warm, but you reel it back in immediately. “I don't approve…but I'll let you buy my silence with ice cream tomorrow.”

The way your voice travels quiet and low through the dark, it's like you're whispering secrets to him. It makes him want to share his own. He can't let himself be tricked though, not by this false intimacy. Not by the way you're looking at him, small smile still in place, and not by, how for a second there, it almost feels like he's supposed to do something.

So Mammon just holds your gaze until the moment fades and you whisper a quiet good night as you turn your back towards him.

You're perhaps his first real friend ever, the first person that seems to see some good in him.

You've come here because you're both stupid and crazy enough to put your trust in him, and here he lies, his fingertips tingling with the urge to reach out to you as he listens to the sound of your breathing.

And fuck, isn't this just great, now it's he who won’t get any sleep tonight.

Until now his greed has never been directed towards another being and he hopes that it won't repeat itself. He's never felt quite this powerless before. Swindling someone out of coin is child's play, getting you to want him is just as likely as them sprouting their old angel wings and shooting back into the celestial realm.

It's strange though when he thinks of it, he's never felt bad for wanting something before.

* * *

The next day he sleeps until noon. He didn't get a single freakin' second of shuteye until the early morning hours. You're already gone by then, but there's a message waiting for him on his D.D.D., it says:

_Thanks for letting me crash with you, you’re the best! (I’ll still hold you to that ice cream later though)_

_PS: You drool in your sleep :P_

* * *

“So, what d'ya think?” Mammon asks, and he's trying not to sound too hopeful, though he doubts it's working. The way your fingers are resting on the glossy pages of the magazine, your index one just short of touching his picture, has him way too distracted already.

He'd jokingly questioned whether it was his modeling spread that made you buy it, but you've avoided answering that. Should he make another joke along the same lines? It's strange how you tried to sneak it past him.

You tap your thumb, considering, “The articles are fairly well written, I didn't think that demons would be interested in reading their horoscope though.”

Mammon groans, “The pictures, dummy! Who cares about the friggin' articles, I'm talkin' 'bout my pictures!”

“Oh?” you say, and _ah_ , you're playing with him. Mammon pulls a face at you and you laugh, but it’s short-lived, your tone turning serious. “I think they're good. Really good.”

Well, shit. Isn't that a bummer.

He didn't expect you to suddenly realize that you have the hots for him — although wouldn't that have been fucking fantastic? No, he didn't even expect you to gush about his good looks, but he'd hoped that you'd at least praise him a little bit. Modeling is his only honest way of getting money, even though the business itself may be anything but. In the end, it's all about pretending and Mammon's really good at that.

A look passes over your face and he realizes that his disappointment must've been showing. He tries to cover it up immediately, but it's too late.

“Don't get me wrong,” you rush to say. “These are wonderful. You look…very handsome. It's just…it's weird. It's almost like it's another person. I mean, not that you aren't normally— I mean,” you cut yourself off, laughing. Shake your head as you continue, “Isn't it scary, to have that many cameras on you?”

Mammon face feels on fire, there's no way you can know how much he craves your approval, still, the effect your words have on him is embarrassing even to himself. He knows he shouldn't read too much into it, you're very free in dishing out kind words and compliments. He's heard you call Asmo pretty and beautiful like a thousand times already, yet the words bury deep within his chest.

He ducks his head, tries to hide how flustered he feels, thinks of an answer to your question.

No, being yourself is scary. Putting on a front and playing dress-up, is not.

That he can't say.

So he reaches for the magazine, says, “Who do ya take me for? This is nothin' for me! Anyway, if you don't like them, y'can just give that thing to me.”

He yanks at the magazine, but you pull it back towards you.

“Nooo! Give it back! I never said that I don’t like them!”

“Then what,” he says after some time in which he observes you smoothing out the pages that got crinkled during your scuffle. Tries for joking but it comes out all wrong, “You're confused by how much you like what you're seeing 'n now want a piece of it?”

“Busted,” you answer, stick your tongue out at him. Quickly follow it up by, “No, it's just like I said. It's like you're another person here.”

That's the whole point of it, Mammon just about stops himself from bursting out. He can be another, better version of himself. Cool and suave, the way he's always wanted to be.

“So, yeah. They're great, very professional if I might add, buuut I still like this one better.”

Before he can ask what you mean, you angle your D.D.D. towards him, its screen flickering to life to a photo of the two you…okay, so what if Levi and Beel are also in it? That's not what's important!

Important is, that that's him on your lock screen right now.

It's a photo from a few days ago, the night before you got your room back. Beel had invited you out to Hell's Kitchen to celebrate your new pact or the fact that you both survived Lucifer's fury or something. Mammon's still not sure. He'd just tagged along because he hadn't been able to get the picture of you all pale and still out of his head, the way you'd looked after you've passed out following that whole effed up confrontation with Luke and the grimoire. He thinks that Levi might've felt similarly at that time. They hadn't really talked about it, it'd been more of a silent agreement to go along with you.

You'd been fresh as a daisy, though. Enough so that it'd been easy to forget that anything had happened at all. Even now your happiness radiates from the photograph, despite all of them looking varying degrees of ridiculous.

You'd suggested taking the photo and pulled them close. Mammon had taken great care that day to get the seat next to yours, so it's him by your side and Beel and Levi to his other. He looks at the him from the picture, all red in the face, mouth open in what he remembers to be a loud protest, too distracted to even notice that Beel, who's sporting a goofy smile of his own, is dripping burger sauce all over his shoulder and expensive ass jacket. Levi looks hilarious with his eyes halfway closed mid-blink, and you too look silly, your nose all scrunched up in laughter.

Mammon reaches for your D.D.D., not even sure what he's about to do, but you snatch the device away from him, probably expecting him to delete it.

He doesn't understand how someone could prefer the loser in that picture over the guy on the magazine cover, but the way you look at it with such fondness before you pocket your D.D.D. away, makes him want to believe in your words.

He grumbles, “What's supposed to better 'bout that, do ya have poor eyesight or somethin'...”

Wonders, whether you've sent the photo to Levi or Beel, and what would be the most casual way in which he could ask them for it.

* * *

Mammon is leaning against the wall and pondering the best way in which he can make away with a few sets of fancy tableware.

He's not a fan of events this stiff, has never been one for a proper ballroom etiquette, but he might as well make the most of this goddamn trip by getting his hands on some of the castle's goods.

If his eyes drift towards where you and Lucifer are floating across the dancefloor then only because the picture is so weird. Who knew the ridiculous human he's seen laugh so hard she snorted soda out her nose could look so natural between all these stuck-up elites?

Mammon crosses his arms, decides that no matter how good you look, it still doesn't suit you. If it was him dancing with you, he'd spin you around until you'd have that stupid ol' grin on your face. He wouldn't force you to be this weirdly well-mannered ladylike version of yourself.

“Surprisingly graceful, isn't she?” comes Satan's voice from his left as the other joins him on the sidelines of the dancefloor.

Mammon shrugs his shoulders noncommittedly.

Satan seems unbothered by his non-answer, doesn't even look at him as he continues speaking, “It seems as if she's catching a lot of eyes too. She's got a strange charm, this one.”

And _that_ , that has Mammon go tense.

He doesn't get why everything concerning you has his hackles rising in record speed lately, or why's he's feeling so off-kilter all the time now. It's just the way it is, and as such he can't hold back the hostility from leaking into his voice, “You tryin' to tell me somethin'?”

Satan chuckles, though it sounds anything but pleasant. “Oh no, it's not me you've got to be worried about. Although, I can't say I'm not intrigued.” He raises a brow, his gaze very deliberate as it drifts towards where Lucifer is leading you across the dancefloor in a perfectly timed waltz.

Mammon feels his stomach drop at the insinuation.

“I'd never thought, I'd see the day. He always acts like he's so above it all.”

“Y-You're shittin' me, that…it's not…,” he struggles to finish the sentence.

Suddenly, he's seeing everything in a new light. The carefully calculated angle of Lucifer's hands, the slight bow to his upper body as he's exchanging secret words with you beneath the music, the way his expression looks a different kind of dangerous from usual. Mammon quickly looks away because he's too scared of recognizing the look in his brother's eyes.

“You should have asked her to dance properly. What's separating you from Lucifer right now, is what separates a man from a boy.”

Mammon's skin is prickling with anger. He's furious. At Satan. At Lucifer. At himself. If what Satan says is true, his chances with you are well and truly fucked. If what Satan says is true— Lucifer is still his brother. Or at least something really close to it.

He grinds his teeth, snaps, “And who crowned you king of know-it-all, I don't think ya know the first thing 'bout stuff like that.”

Satan's aura turns dark, there's an ominous glint in his eyes. “I may not be an expert on these things, but make no mistake, I much sooner know what's in a woman's heart than you do. Shall I prove it to you? Should I throw my hat into the ring, too?”

Mammon's about to shit himself, Satan's wrath is already terrifying enough, to summon it now and potentially disturb Diavolo's fancy-ass party would be a whole other level of dread awaiting him. However, the reply tumbles out of his mouth despite that, almost as if on its own accord, surprising even himself, “Do whatever y'want, but she's not some prize to be won.”

The subsequent silence feels charged, neither of them had expected a scummy good-for-nothing like him to suddenly grow a backbone just now.

Satan stares at him as if he admitted to something bad or said something impossible, and Mammon feels fidgety from the sudden vulnerability.

He's slipping these days, behaving even more foolish than usual. You're slowly but steadily chipping away at him, one day at a time, exposing parts of him that are so well hidden, Mammon himself forgot they existed.

Moments pass and Satan seems to relax, but his smile is still sharp as a knife's edge as he says, “I'm not trying to attack you. I'm trying to tell you that you'd need to be blind to think that others won't notice her. Or to assume that you strutting around her like a rooster with its feathers ruffled will make a difference to anybody.”

Mammon opens his mouth and shuts it immediately, locks his jaw. He can't decide on whether Satan is helping or mocking him, much less what to say to that, so he just frowns.

His gaze returns to where Lucifer holds your hand so very delicately as he dips you into a light spin.

Not for the first time, Mammon wishes he could be in his brother's stead.

* * *

“Tomorrow's the day,” you say.

He'd been surprised when you've asked him whether he wanted to skip class. It's not something you'd ever agree to at the R.A.D., and not for his lack of trying either, but apparently it's a different matter here.

You said that it'd be your last chance to enjoy the sun and blue skies, and Mammon thought nothing of it then.

He doesn't understand what's supposed to be fun about a game in which you have to go to fucking school and _actually_ study. Besides, skipping meant getting to spend some alone time with you and that's just killing two birds with one stone.

But now, seeing you sit in the shadow of the big trees lining the school courtyard, the sleeves of your uniform rolled up as your hands settle within the green grass, leisurely playing with the stalks, Mammon begins to worry.

Do you dread the return to the Devildom? Would you much rather stay in this fake simulation of the human world than once more be immersed in darkness?

He never actually did ask you whether you missed your realm. There are some truths one's better off not knowing and you make it quite easy to forget that it wasn't of your own choosing that you came to be with them.

Mammon steals another glance at you from where he's lying on his back, his head cushioned by his school bag. Thin rays of sunshine filter through the canopy, casting you in a curious pattern of light and shadow. He doesn't dare voice his prior thought, instead asks something he already knows the answer to, “Don't tell me you actually enjoy bein' set as the heroine? All that flirtin' finally goin' to your head?”

“Ha! No. Although I do admit, it's not too bad being pampered.”

You wiggle your brows at him and Mammon grins.

Pretty big talk for someone who hid out in the girls' restroom during all of break yesterday, just so she didn't have to be hand-fed from Levi's three-layered Ruri-chan themed bento-box again.

“It's just…it feels like we've been here a long time. It's stupid, but I think I'm going to miss some of those NPCs.”

Mammon scoffs, folds his arms behind his head.

You're not wrong, everything feels pretty authentic here. The warmth of the sun feels just as real as the heat which crawls across his skin whenever you're near or look at him. Even his brothers' fight for your affection feels just a bit too genuine for his liking.

You plop back against the trunk of the tree, smiling as you do, “Although I do have to say that I'm looking forward to the big rooftop scene tomorrow. Will there be cherry blossoms raining from the sky? Will the very air turn to sparkles? Haah, I guess we'll see.”

Mammon smirks, “Pff. That won't happen.”

He imagines Lucifer, Satan, Levi, standing amidst a steady stream of cherry blossoms, spewing rosy words and cheesy nonsense. The mental picture is almost enough to make him laugh, but then it morphs into you accepting them, and his smirk drops.

He's still reeling from the thought of that very real possibility, when all of a sudden you look him with a cheeky grin, “Have you prepared your confession yet?”

Mammon feels his face warm and sputters.

Admittedly, he didn't really think that part through just yet. Has continued hoping that things would just work themselves out in his favor eventually. 

His greed keeps playing tricks on his mind and heart whenever it comes to you. Even if it'd just be pretend for the purpose of the game, he can't shake the feeling that a fake confession would feel just a bit too close to home.

You're still looking at him and his face is growing impossibly hotter still. He snaps, “W-Who says I'm going to confess to ya, huh?! It's you who's going to confess to me!”

You mime shock, giggle, “Oh no, is that so? Nobody told me that the game worked that way!

He's glad that you're going along with it even if it's just to ease his embarrassment, sniffs, “Well, I'm the great Mammon, it's only natural that I'd be the one getting confessed to.”

And he thinks that's it, but you're such a goofball, so of course, you can't leave it at that. There's a mischievous spark in your eyes as you place the back of your hand against your forehead, adapting a woeful pose, “Oh dear, whatever should I say? I didn't prepare anything!” 

He can already feel his cheeks warm once more. “You should mention my good looks.”

“Oh great Mammon, you're so hot, my pants catch fire every time I look at you,” you coo.

He smothers a laugh, caught between feeling happy and embarrassed. He's not really good at handling jokes like that. “Y'could also talk 'bout how cool I am.”

“You're so cool, you could give a girl frostbites!”

He snorts, can no longer fight the corners of his mouth from tugging up in earnest, “Or ya could go into how smart I am.”

Mammon waits for what you come up with this time, but it's followed only by cheeky silence. He props himself up, rips out some grass, half-heartedly throws it at you.

“Hey! Not the poor grass, it didn't do anything!” you laugh.

“It's just pixels!” he says, tries to keep from smiling like an idiot.

You keep smiling too though, pluck a nearby flower and twirl it between your fingers before you hold it out to him.

“Alright, alright,” you say. “You must be a genius seeing how you solved the equation to my heart— just like that.”

Mammon rolls his eyes, his face now properly on fire as he grumbles “Yeah, yeah, shuddup.”

You lean back against the tree, looking thoroughly satisfied and accomplished at having successfully embarrassed him.

He's still looking at the flower you gave him, staring at its petals, thinking of a scene in a human world movie he once saw. One where the young girl plucked the petals and counted — what was it she counted again? He can't remember, stops thinking of it when you continue talking.

“This whole confession business, it's actually pretty rare in the human world. Normally these things just…I don't know, happen. Isn't it kind of awkward? What would you even say if you were doing it for real?”

“I dunno...,” Mammon says, crumbles up the flower and discards it to the side. Not like he can take it out of the game with him anyway. “I guess, y'just say it how it is. How ya like them so much that you can barely stand it. How y'want to be with them all the time. That ya would try and make them happy—” he falters, “—a-and stuff.”

“I…” you start, fall silent, and Mammon feels as if he said something very strange just now.

He hopes that he hasn't freaked you out, feels as if he's about to freak out himself. But then you speak up again, louder, and surer than before. “I tell you what, let's rock-paper-scissors and if you win, I'll do it. I'll do the confessing tomorrow.”

He can feel his heart skip a beat, and then, then it launches right into a sprint.

“…b-but, w-what about...”

“I was going to pick you as the winner anyway— I mean, I thought about picking Levi. It's his game and he's trying so hard, but what if we have to kiss to trigger the ending? That'd be just way too weird, he's like a sibling to me! And, I…” you stop, your gaze flattering about and away, shrug. “It's just a game, why shouldn't we have some fun with it.”

His mind is still hung up on the kissing part, a thousand different thoughts and images bouncing through his head, but then it catches up to what you said last— and it shouldn't matter. Because what difference does it make to his greed why it is that he should have a taste of you, but somehow it does, and somehow it's painful to imagine you saying or doing things you don't mean.

There's still that confusing knot of emotion, tangling and twisting inside him, but you're already leaning forward, counting down from three, swinging your fist back and forth.

Your fingers uncurl just the tiniest tad too early, your palm just about to flatten before the final number fully leaves your lips.

Mammon keeps his fist tightly balled. He was going to go with rock anyway.

* * *

They're not supposed to be in each other rooms. The only one who gets away with his occasional snooping around is Lucifer, for obvious reasons. Still, Mammon does this from time to time and Satan has yet to notice.

Hell, it's a total pigsty in here. Books all over, stapled up to under the ceiling. Really, he's only doing his brother a favor if he relieves him of the occasional dusted up and forgotten volume. And if he resells some of that magic mumbo-jumbo for a high price, well, then that's just basic efficiency.

He's skimming through a book, trying to get an idea of its value when the door creaks open, making him shoot up straight, ready to run for his life. It's you though, your eyes narrowing in at where Mammon is still holding onto the book in his hand.

You dart a hurried glance over your shoulder and quietly click the door shut behind you. After that, you're all up in his space. “What are you doing?” you hiss.

“What are _you_ doing here?!” Mammon hisses right back.

“I'm…I'm looking for Satan.”

It's a lie. Everybody knows Satan and Lucifer are staying with you until their little situation is resolved. Besides you're avoiding his eyes and you always look everyone straight in the eyes. You're someone who sees people, meets them head-on.

Not right now though, no. You look exhausted. Dark circles pool under your eyes and your shoulders are slumping. You lack all of your usual spirit. That whole body swap garbage is taking its toll on you, especially since you couldn't resolve it by going into that damned game. You're still caught in the middle of his brothers' constant arguing and it's wearing you out. 

So Mammon doesn't call you out on the lie, waits for you to look at him again, for you to gesture at the book and ask, “And you? Does he know about this?”

He chews on the inside of his mouth, thinks of a good excuse. When he realizes there is none, he blurts, “Oh c'mon, he won't even miss it! Besides if he would sort out books from time to time, then maybe he wouldn't be in that fucked up situation right now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, your fingers pressing into your temples.

You've once told him that you don't have a family in the human world. Not anymore, you'd said. Told him that your parents hated each other so much, that they ended up hating you too.

He wonders whether being stuck with Lucifer and Satan constant arguing reminds you of that past, of them screaming at each other and you, like you said that they did. Either way, he feels like a complete dick for adding to that troubled look of yours.

Mammon opens his mouth, searches for the words, but they form to a lump in his throat. It feels like having to learn a new language, trying to apologize. He's still struggling to say or do something when suddenly there are voices nearing— Lucifer and Satan's voices.

Your both stare at each other, wide-eyed.

Satan will literally murder you if he finds you in his room like this, and if by some chance he doesn't, then Lucifer may very well get the job done instead.

You're looking around in panic, your alarmed gaze landing on the nearby storage closet, and a second later, you're dragging him inside it after you.

The voices draw nearer, there's Satan speaking in Lucifer's tone, “Your arrogance never fails to astound me, I've told you that I looked through it all already. Do you seriously think that you're better equipped than me to find any possible solutions in that text?”

Next to him, you're taking a step back, your back bumping into the shelve behind you, rattling the magic trinkets on it. You're so carefully focused on the approaching danger that it makes you jump, almost yelping in surprise. Mammon covers your mouth before the sound can escape you, draws you back against him.

The momentum has you both stumble back and over something, and before he can do so much but wonder why the fuck there are fucking books inside here too, you're both tumbling back against the wall and down in a crash that has the magic trinkets rattling all over again.

They don't fall though.

There's only the sound of the door creaking open and Mammon doesn't dare to move, only listens to his brothers' heavy footsteps enter the room, and those alone already manage to sound exceptionally pissed off. It really would be the worst possible moment for you two to evoke their anger, however, it seems as if their bickering prevents them from noticing anything.

Mammon wonders how you can stand them staying with you in that state, he would ask you if it wasn't for how he's trying so very hard to stay quiet, and it's only when he thinks of that that he realizes the position that you're in.

He's backed into the wall, his legs stretched out as much as the small closet allows them to be, leaving them bend at an awkward angle— and you, caged between them. Practically in his lap, your back all pressed up to his front.

Mammon drops the hand that is still pressed to your mouth as if burned.

Again, he wants to apologize. Again, he doesn't know how to or if he even should. It might draw attention to you both and he might be the only one who's freaking out right now. So he just bites his tongue and resists the urge to bang his head back into the wall.

How does he always manage to fuck things up so spectacularly?

You feel so right against him.

Much smaller than he imagined.

And he can smell your shampoo on you from where your hair is tickling his chin, and shit, if he doesn't move fast you might get quite the literal front-row seat to feeling exactly how depraved his thoughts have become around you.

Shit, he can't think of anything more mortifying than you seeing him get all hot and bothered by a little mere proximity.

He tries to scoot back, but there's no space. Tries to shift to the side instead. His hand brushes past your thigh right where your skirt has hiked up a little, and when it does your breath hitches in a peculiar way.

Mammon goes still. And for a moment there's nothing but the backdrop noise of his brothers' shuffling around in the next room and the sound of your breathing, fast and uneven.

Now that he's not focusing on himself anymore, he can see how very tense you are, how you keep your face carefully angled away from him. You're just as high-strung as he is, he realizes.

There are many things that this could mean, but his mind refuses to acknowledge any of the most probable ones and instead zeroes in on the impossible.

Only that it doesn't seem that impossible anymore, at least not at this moment.

Suddenly Mammon has to know.

Doesn't matter where they are and what might be the repercussions, doesn't matter that his heart is beating so fast, it's like it's trying to escape him. You must feel it too, thumping out an erratic rhythm against your back as he tries to steel himself for what he's about to do.

This might be the riskiest gamble he's ever wagered, the stakes too high to recover from, but it's in the very nature of those who are idiotic and greedy to go for it anyway.

His hand shakes, unsteady, as he places it on that spot he brushed, a bit higher up your knee, just beneath the seam of your skirt. He curls his fingers around the thick of your thigh, fully expecting you to push him off, to slap him hard and have Lucifer burst the doors to the closest open and castrate him in succession.

Instead, you melt back into him, a shiver passing through your body. Strong enough so that he can feel it where he tightens his hold around your soft bare flesh.

Shit, this doesn't feel like something he should be allowed to do.

In fact, he's never felt as much of a sinner as he does this moment, but the look in your eyes as your head drops back against his shoulder and you tilt your face back towards him isn't exactly innocent either. Mammon's never claimed to have any amount of decency or be anything but selfish, really. So, he doesn't hesitate when he sees you craning your neck even further, your gaze dropping to his mouth.

He's greed personified and he'll take whatever you'll give to him.

Including your kiss.

Your lips taste like the sweetest temptation, like tasting them would be enough to get him expelled from the celestial realm all over again. And you kiss him with such urgency, that he can barely believe it's him who you're meaning to kiss.

He's too dumbfounded, can only follow your lead as you press in eagerly, drawing away only long enough to follow up by brushing smaller, much shorter kisses along the corner of his mouth all the way up to the bow of his lips. When you capture his bottom lip between your own, suckling gently, it sears right through him, all the way to his core.

He doesn't know what to do with so much tenderness, feels clumsy in response. Wants to respond in kind, but it’s been so long since he unlearned how to be gentle.

His touch ends up too harsh and too frantic as he twines his arm around your middle and draws you back more against him, his other hand still squeezing your thigh rhythmically. Neither is much of a caress. Instead, it feels desperate, like the touch of someone hanging on to the edge of a cliff, afraid to let go.

You don't seem to mind though, no, you don't mind at all. He can feel the vibrations of a silent moan on your tongue as it glides into his mouth and along his, your fingers digging into whichever part of him is closest. Fuck, it drives him wild, and there's no attempt at all to be gentle when he slants his mouth against yours anew and sinks his teeth into your lower lip.

Your kisses grow less careful then, less coordinated, your mouths meeting hard, open, and hungry.

It's a complete sensory overload, the way you're both so responsive and demanding at once. He doesn't know who's leading anymore, only chases after your tongue, your lips, each of your silent hums. Loosens the hold of his arm around your middle, so he can splay his hand low against your side and belly.

You keep exploring each other's mouths and in a quickly receding corner of his mind, Mammon knows that you got to get a grip on this moment.

His brothers are still rummaging around only a few feet away from you two, and if that isn't awkward enough your position is all fucked up too, with your elbow poking into his chest uncomfortably and the crick in the neck you must be getting by now. Yet it all falls away as your lips break away from him, your wet hot breath still hitting his mouth as your eyes search his.

Mammon hopes that he doesn't look like these past few minutes in this dusty ass closet have been the single best thing to happen to him in his whole damn pathetic life, but he doesn't really think that he's got the best poker face going for him at the moment either.

He feels frozen, trapped, like a deer caught in headlights, but whatever you find in his eyes sparks a hazy shine within your own hooded gaze, has you shifting up until you're fully in his lap. The motion makes his hand glide higher up your thigh and the soft roundness of your ass is suddenly nestled snuggly against him. He gulps, shit, you must feel him digging into your backside with how hard he is, but it doesn't deter you at all.

No, your mouth finds his ear, strained breath on its shell, prickling his neck as your voice travels in nothing but a hint of a hot whisper, “I've—, I’ve been waiting for you to do something.”

Mammon has to seize your lips again and suck on your tongue to keep from groaning out loud.

You've wanted this too, wanted him, and he was either too stupid to notice or too afraid to let himself believe it. He won't make the same mistake twice though. Still thinks you're too trusting, too honest, too naïve in wanting to see the good in filth like him, but he's not above taking advantage of the fact. And that alone should tell you enough.

As if to prove himself right, his greed flares up with all of its intense ugliness. He can't focus on anything but the glide of your tongue and the way you're grinding your ass back against him. In this moment he wants to take, take and take it all; wants to make you cry out his name all horse and desperate.

He doesn't care if they're found out anymore, let them come, let them see you in his arms, twisting against him. Yes, his greed has never been directed towards someone and not something, but shit, he wants to make you his more than he's ever wanted anything.

You're not something to be possessed or tamed though. There's so much fire in you, the same fire Mammon has seen when you've stood up to those demons at the R.A.D., or gone head to head with him or his brothers. Only now he can taste that very fire on your skin, laps it up from where you face away and bare your throat to him.

He may not get to claim you in all the ways his sin wants him to, but he can still try to leave his mark on you. Tries to do exactly that as he explores the delicate skin of your throat with bites and kisses, both of which leave you biting your own lips hard, squirming.

It's strange, he thinks as he sucks on the soft skin just beneath the junction of your ear and jaw, breathes in your sweet scent there, as far as his greed goes, touching you, kissing you, it doesn't give him that satisfying rush or the sense of gratification he's used to. No, instead it feels like it's he who's being taken from, leaving only more space for that longing behind.

Even now with your head falling further to the side, opening up more of your throat to him, you're not giving up control, only take what you want from him. And the strangest thing is that he finds himself liking it. Likes how bossy you're being as you blindly reach up behind you, drag your fingertips along his scalp and fist his hair, tugging mindlessly as if to urge him on or get him closer.

Finds himself leaning into the sensation, eager to give you anything you want.

And fuck, you _do_ want, don't you? You're turned on, he can feel it in the way your thigh is trembling beneath his hand.

He wants to know what it is exactly you want, wants you to show it to him. And so he releases his hold around your thigh, trails his fingers up along its inner part ever so slowly, feels goosebumps break out on the skin beneath. Stops just short of where it dips down to your most intimate part. Leaves them poised there until a great quiver wrecks through you, until it jumps over to him, makes him shudder too, and then he can feel your leg rippling open.

Fuck, you're spreading your legs for him.

And it's as if there's a burning fist of want strangling him.

It's terrifying as much as it is exhilarating, and his finger shake as he slides them up higher, right where you want them to be, right where he wants to be. Reaching the edge of your panties and finding them soaked, your skin nothing but damp heat. And it doesn't feel at all like his sin, not anything like that familiar high of getting what he wants— this need goes deeper, it smarts, it pierces. Mammon has to bite his lip to keep from whining as he goes to trace where you're all wet for him, but your hand lands on top of his, stopping him in his tracks.

“W-Wait,” you shriek, and you don't remember to keep quiet.

His whole being jolts to a halt. Never mind his earlier thoughts, he doesn't want to share this with anyone. This is between you two. The one thing in his life he doesn't want his brothers to have any part in. Yet again, your hand catches his own before it can fly to your mouth.

“Don't worry. It's okay,” your voice sounds breathy and nothing like he ever heard it before. You're pulling away from him, scooting forward and turning. When you're face to face again, you say, “They've been gone for a while now.”

Mammon's mouth falls to an 'o'. He hadn't noticed. At all.

He tries to answer, to quieten his thoughts or calm the boiling of his blood, but it's not working. You must sense his struggle, because you say, “L-Lets not.”

And fuck, that does the trick, because Mammon fucking freezes, his insides turning to ice.

“I mean, not here. Not like this.”

And oh.

 _Oh_.

“Can I—, C-Can I come to your room later?”

You shake your head and Mammon feels like he's going crazy or experiencing the worst case of palpations ever.

“Remember, Lucifer and Satan are staying with me.” Your eyes glide to the side, your voice turning airy and small. "But I…could come to yours?”

“That…” he starts, gives a sharp nod, “W-We can do that.”

“Okay. Good,” you say and you're nodding too, awkwardly. Then out of nowhere start laughing, “Great.”

You stumble to your feet in a legless stagger, darting shy glances at him even as you brush your skirt down and into place. Mammon can't help but stare, not quite believing that his hand has trailed along the soft skin there only seconds ago. You giggle as if you've read his mind.

Your movements are still shaky, but you seem happy. The smile playing along your lips is unlike any smile he's ever seen on you before, it looks giddy in a way that makes it hard to look at for too long, making him feel strange all over.

There's an odd emotion building in his chest, a swelling behind his rips. Something big, something massive, waking up inside him, rising from a deep slumber. It's impossible to ignore, has him wobble as he gets up and brushes dust from his pants.

Both of you don't say anything else, only glance at each other repeatedly as you leave the room and part ways.

But even then as you're making your way down the hallway, you're still looking back at where he's standing, rooted to the ground in front of Satan's door. Smiling that giddy smile as you throw him glances over your shoulder, one of which has you almost tripping over your own two feet.

It reminds Mammon of all the times, you snuck glances at him during class, pulling silly faces.

Was there that much warmth in your eyes even then? If yes, how could he have missed it?

The thing inside him grows, is ballooning up, taking up all the place, even the empty one. 

And he knows the name of this giant even if he never encountered it before.

Didn't think that it was his to ever become acquainted with.

* * *

He's been pacing around for what feels like hours. Even resorted to cleaning his freaking room and brushing his teeth two times, anything to keep himself from sitting around and have his stomach coil into these tight knots of anxiety.

There's no point in kidding himself, both of you know what you agreed on earlier.

Mammon should be fucking overjoyed. He's thought about it so many times. Has been thinking about you, ever since you came here.

He'd cooked up dozens of different scenarios in his head, all ending with the two of you hooking up, or you falling head over heels for him.

His most prominent fantasy cementing itself right after he'd told you that he'd be the one to save you if you ever were in danger. You’d agreed back then, a telling smile on your face— yes, it'd be him who'd protect you, otherwise, you'd make sure to die. Making it clear that you knew full well that he wasn't serious, that it was only a mixture of embarrassment and nerves speaking.

Nevertheless, the damage was done. And ever since then Mammon daydreamed about you in some vague, faceless form of impending danger and of himself swooping in as your cool and calm protector and hero, making you go weak in the knees with all of his extreme manliness. It was stupid and exactly that— a fantasy.

He'd have never actually thought that he'd come this far, that you'd choose him when you have everyone more or less smitten with you.

Of course, it's a possibility that he's nothing but a little appetizer to a full six-course demon meal, but it didn't seem that way earlier. No, you don't kiss someone that way if there's no feeling to it, you don't look at them that way after either.

…God, at least he hopes you don't.

Mammon curses, checks his D.D.D. for the fifth time in a row. Still nothing.

Shit, shit, shit. He really must be as useless and dumb as everyone says he is. All this time spent wondering why wanting you, longing for you, felt so different from the other times his sin took hold of him— of course, it's only now that he’s so close to getting what he thought he wanted, that he's come to realize that's not it at all.

His D.D.D. chimes with a message and Mammon pauses, takes a deep breath before he opens it.

Maybe you've changed your mind, maybe you've come to your senses, or maybe it was all an elaborate prank and you're chilling with Asmo this very second, making jokes about his kissing technique, sending him a 'Got you lol :D'.

He shakes his head, shit, what is he thinking. Draws up the message.

_Are you still awake? They're asleep, I could sneak away now. Any idea who'd be nice enough to lend me some shelter for the night? :) :P_

He squeezes his eyes shut, drags a hand across his face, types, _Do ya have any idea how long I've been waiting?!!? HURRY UP NOW!!!_

Your answer comes immediately, _I'll be over in a second. Mission commence B)_

And once more, Mammon begins to pace.

He's scared shitless.

Scared of what happens if you only want him for a night, scared of what happens if you want more.

Shit, what if he somehow miraculously managed to get you interested in him and squanders it by being a lousy lay?

It's too late though, there's no going back now, because there's a soft knocking on his door, and suddenly there's no more time to consider all the possible ways in which he could screw up.

You're on him as soon as he opens it. Up on your tiptoes, winding your arms around his neck and pressing up into him. He catches you, his arms wrapping around your middle, holding you close. And he can feel the curve of your smile as you press your lips to his, as you kick the door shut behind you and walk them back towards his bed without ever letting go of him, don't even stop kissing him.

He's still trying to take it all in, to wrap his head around everything that's happening, but then the back of his legs meet the edge of the bed. And in the very next second you're pushing him down and into a sitting position, climbing into his lap, your hands in his hair and your legs on both sides of him. 

Suddenly, Mammon feels like he can't breathe, like it's all too much.

He breaks the kiss, draws away.

Fuck, he's such an idiot, an eternal fuck-up.

“W-What's wrong?” you ask and you sound so surprised, unsure, and worried.

His stomach flutters in embarrassment and he squeezes his eyes shut. Ducks his head, shaking it. 

“Listen, we don't have to do anything, we can just—”

“No!” he says fast, “No. No, I want this”

He wants this bad. More than anything, but—

“Hey. It's okay,” you shush, talk to him as if he's a spooked animal. He's so pathetic, his face is burning from the humiliation.

“You've been so silent ever since earlier. I—, I'm sorry if it's something I did. Can you please talk to me, tell me what it is?”

“I d-don't…” he starts, forces himself to look at you, but it's impossible to keep doing so. Stares as where his hands are lying flat and lifeless on your thighs, admits quietly, “I don't want to fuck this up.”

You lift your hands, cup his face with them so very carefully. Tilt it upwards so that there's no way for him to escape your gaze. “Listen— Hey, listen to me.”

You drop one of your hands to grasp one of his, lift it up, and press it to your chest.

He's confused, too distracted by the feeling of the soft swell of your breast at first, but then he feels it— the nervous drumming of your heart, like the frantic flapping of a bird's wing.

“I'm scared too,” you say, let go of his hand from where it's still listening to your heartbeat to cup his face again. “I don't want to fuck this up either. A-And I don't want you to be disappointed.”

Your gaze flickers away, only for a second, but it's telling enough. When it's back on him, you shrug your shoulders with a sheepish smile. “Down here everyone's meant to be a walking talking seduction and I'm hardly that. I'm only an ordinary human after all.” 

…an ordinary human.

 _An ordinary human_ , huh?

Shit, he's so fuckin' anxious about fucking up that he didn't even realize that he's already right in the process of doing so. So fucking preoccupied with himself when it's you he should be worried about.

You're tough, the toughest damn human he ever met, but even the toughest ones need some looking after. And he's supposed to be the second strongest of them all— hah, what a fucking joke.

His hands settle on your hips, taking a firm hold of them from where you're still perched in his lap. 

“Y'think an ordinary human can form a pact with the Devildom’s most powerful, just like that? Ya seriously think that an ordinary human can hold his own against Lucifer? And that I...that I'd be acting like this, if ya weren't—. You're ridiculous, yes. Stupidly reckless and stubborn? Hell yeah! But nope, not ordinary,” he pauses, unsure, adds quietly, “You're anythin' but that.”

Your eyes glaze over with an unfamiliar emotion and then you're leaning in again. Slowly, carefully. Your lips a mere brush against his own. And he thought that you'd been tender before, but this is another language of its own. One that is spoken in silent caresses, in the way your thumbs are stroking across his cheeks so very delicately, and in the way you press affection onto his lips, feed it to him with your tongue.

“Mammon…,” you pull away, breathe his name onto his lips. Only that it too sounds different, like it's another word altogether, part of your secret code, given to something precious and treasured.

It sounds so good. More, he wants more of it. Wraps his arms around your middle, pulls you as close as it gets, dips his tongue into your mouth, and kisses you long and deep.

You're tongues glide against each other languidly, and he wants to take his time, to savor your taste, but then he can feel you moan and he wants to hear that too. No, needs to hear it, now that you don't have to be silent anymore. Has to know what kind of sounds you make, just for him.

He breaks away from your mouth, kisses his way up your collarbone and throat until those first soft noises of pleasure fall from your lips, and you start squirming in his lap. It feels so good the way you move against him, he wants to feel more of it. Drops his hand to the swell of your ass, squeezes and presses down as he grinds up into you.

You gasp, his name tumbling from your lips in that sweet and thick honey-like whisper. More. He wants to hear you say it more. His hands roam up your body, along your side, to your back, under your shirt. Fuck, you're silky smooth all over, he wants to feel more, skin on skin. Wants to have the whole wide expanse of it at his fingertips, for him to see, touch, taste.

Drags your shirt upwards, with that thought echoing inside his head.

More, more, more.

And you must sense his intent, because you lift your arms and let him pull it off you, letting him come eye level with the fullness of your breast, hidden only by a thin layer of lacy soft blue. It's still not enough.

He cups your breasts and swipes his thumbs over where your hardened nipples are poking through the lace. It makes you moan into his mouth, your hands roaming along his shoulders, neck, chest. Shit, he could get drunk of that sound, traces your nipples through the fabric, and pinches them hard to make you moan louder still. It works, and you do, the sound reverberating through his skull, making him feel dizzy even as his thumbs swipe back over your nipples to chase away the burn.

You break away for air then, gasp, your mouth nudging against his as you whisper, “So greedy…”

Your face is flushed and there's a small smile tugging at your lips. A bit shaky, a bit shy. A front for your nervousness, just like your words are. You probably mean nothing by it, but Mammon can't stand to hear that familiar moniker. Not with his recent revelation still singing in his blood. Not when he has you in his arms, feeling like this.

It's been so long since he's been more than his greed.

And crap, he really hopes he isn't wrong about this. Hopes, that he didn't see only the things he wanted to see during everything that happened today. But he knows that he has to make sure that you understand this, for both your sakes.

He lets go of his grip on you, reaches up, his hand settling at the slope of your neck, and he feels you go still as you register the change in mood. He thought that it's been hard before, but it's never been more nerve-racking than now holding your all-seeing gaze, especially with how it's searching his so insistently.

Mammon feels like he swallowed stones, fights past it, says very slowly, “I don't think that this…has anythin' to with my greed.”

He observes you process the words and their meaning, sees your eyes flicker in understanding. His heart plummets when you lean away from him. But then you're reaching behind you and unclasp your bra, ridding yourself of it in one quick swoop before your arms are back around his neck, your fingers carding through the hair at his nape as you align their gazes once more.

“Good,” you breathe, and you kiss him.

You both fall back into the bed, clinging to each other. Your kisses have grown deeper, mapping out every part of him, and it's like he's losing a little bit more of himself in each of them. Your hands have turned more impatient though, alternating between smoothing across and clawing at the skin beneath his clothes.

You whine as he breaks the kiss and rolls you over, but the protest dies off quickly when you watch him go for his shirt, taking it off.

He rids himself of his jeans too, your bright shiny gaze following his every move as he fiddles with his belt, your eyes roaming over every bit of newly exposed skin.

Fuck, you look so eager, like you want to eat him up. He's never felt this desired before, it’s a rush unlike anything he's ever experienced.

And it only grows stronger when you draw him back to you hurriedly, kiss your way up to his ear as you're trying to get your hands on every uncovered part of him. He almost blows his load when you start whispering sweet nothings to him between licks and kisses.

“You're so gorgeous,” you breath. “You feel so amazing.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to keep from moaning, but you must know what your words do to him, must enjoy seeing him like this, because you keep talking in that pretty voice of yours.

Whisper, “I want you” right after you bite his shoulder.

Murmer, “Need you. Need you so bad” as your nails scrape down his lower abdomen.

Fuck, he should have known that you'd be just as bold and headstrong in bed as you're everywhere else, still, it's like a shock to his system when you're fingers brush right above the waistband of his boxer briefs. They linger there for just a beat before they drift lower, palming his length through them.

Mammon hisses, even that bit of contact feels mind-numbingly good, but it's not what he wants right now. He grasps both your wandering hands by the wrists, presses you back into the bed, and pins them above you.

You let him. Go with it so pliant and obedient, all laid out for him as he leans back and drinks in the sight of your naked torso, your full breasts and stiff nipples heaving with every breath you take.

“Y'like to tease me?” he asks. Ducks down to kiss his way up to the valley between them, to suck, lick, bite on your nipple until you moan and buck up into him. He grabs your hip, holds it down, denying you the friction you seek. “You're not the only who can tease, human.”

You whine, your hands flying to his hair, fisting it as you struggle to keep your voice from wavering, “Back to being called a human? Wh— _Ah_!” You gasp, stopping short in your speech as he ghosts his fingers along your panties. Shit, you're so wet that they're sticking to you, that he can feel all of you through them. He doesn't understand how he could get so lucky. It seems unreal that you could want him just as much as he does you, but at the same time, he also wants nothing more than to coax more sweet praise from you.

“I’ll call you whatever y'want me to call you, b-but—” he stops, wills his voice from shaking. “You're not jus' any human.” And he traces one lone finger down along the middle when he says that, right where he can feel your folds through the drenched fabric. “You're my human.”

You gasp, move into it, rub your cunt against him. He drops his forehead to yours, shudders at how ready and desperate for him you are. Draws your panties to the side blindly, fingers stroking through the mess between your legs, getting them slick enough to tease around your clit slowly.

“Right?” he asks, listens as your breaths turn to pants, the rest of his fingers settling at your entrance as he draws small languid circles around your clit, slowly growing tighter.

You gasp, moan, fucking whimper.

Mammon's never really gotten classical music, but it feels like one of these god damned symphonies, with him being both the only audience and the conductor.

He doesn't want to miss a single note, yet he also needs to hear you say it, because there may be something bigger than his greed now, something else fueling this need, but he's still the same selfish bastard as before and wants you to be his, at least for this moment alone.

So he asks again, voice unsteady as he sinks two fingers inside you, so tight, so wet, his thumb still moving on your clit, “Aren't ya?”

“Yes,” you whine. Fuck back onto his fingers and breathe, “Yes, make me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open in a wordless cry as he slides them deeper and curls them upwards. It's intoxicating, to think that he's allowed to see this side of you, to watch you fall apart around his fingers alone, writhing beneath him. That you let yourself be held by him, a human so strong she can bring demons to their knees.

Shit, you make him want to sink to his knees too, to lap you up and kiss you where you're most sensitive, make you become even more undone. His mind is spinning with all the possibilities of what he wants to do to you. Of what you would let him. He's about to descend down from where he's bowed above you, but you draw him up towards you and kiss him, dirty and desperate.

“Mammon…” you whine, lock your gazes, making his fingers stutter inside you. He tries to look away, but you're reaching for his face again, whimpering his name once more, “Mammon.”

“You'll make me lose my mind, if y'keep sayin' my name like that,” he groans. Adds a third finger, sinks them deeper, so deep, you're dripping on his knuckles too. His thumb brushing your clit lightly, only to press hard afterward.

Your thighs tremble and he can feel your walls flutter around him. He wants to see your face when you come for him, but you capture his mouth before you do. And that feels amazing too, has him closing his eyes as he concentrates on how he can feel you tremble from the inside and outside, as he savors the absence of space from every single point you two are connected.

It feels so good, so right, better than anything he could have thought up previously. He could come on the spot, just from this alone, but you let go of his lips, don't even give yourself a second to breathe even though you're still tightening around his fingers.

Just reach down, grab him through his briefs, and pant, “Want to feel you, all of you. Please.”

Mammon heaves a shuddering groan, and then he's rushing to rid you of your panties, tugging at them clumsily. Your movements just as feverish as you help him wriggle out of them. When he's got you all naked, splayed out before him, he wastes no time in getting naked too.

He's well past feelings of embarrassment or shame, and it appears to be the same for you, because your hand is on his cock as soon as it springs free, fondling, stroking, tugging. “You're so beautiful,” you whisper. “Want you inside me, hurry, please.”

Shit, he's moaning. Knows that it's a turnoff for many, how noisy he can get, but it only seems to spur you on more. Your movements growing more and more erratic as you guide him towards where you want him most. The head of his cock brushes against your slit, both of you gasping in unison when your hips buck down just as his jerk forward, the motion sliding his whole length against you, turning it slick with your arousal.

You whimper his name again, sounding so wanton, so needy, and _fuck_ , this will be over in no time if you keep on doing that.

So he drops his hand down to where he's still rutting against you, gets his fingers all nice and wet for you before he slides them into your mouth, your lips just about to part for another chant of his name. You don't hesitate in taking them, just follow his lead as your tongue runs along every inch of them, as you suck and lick and pant as if you'd much rather have his cock instead.

Shit, you must taste yourself on them.

It's a thought and sight so lewd, it makes every last remaining piece of patience melt away. No matter how much he wants to draw this out, every single cell of his body is demanding to be with you and you seem just as sick of waiting. And so he withdraws his fingers, uses the sticky digits to align his cock and drive himself inside you.

You give a long, drawn-out moan, half-pleasure, half-pained, your fingers digging into his back so hard, it's as if you want to claw him open. And maybe you actually succeed, because he feels himself melt into you as he sinks in further, marveling at how you whimper and whine as he stretches and fills every inch of your tight wet heat.

You start moving under him, trying to get him deeper still. Your hips rolling into his until he's fully inside you, balls pressing up against you.

“Y-yes,” you cry, voice breaking with pleasure.

And you look so good like this, head thrown back and spine arched, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He wants to see all of you, grabs you by the ankles and positions your legs on his shoulder so that he can watch himself move inside you.

Shit, you look fucking perfect like this if you ask him, your pussy all tight and slick and swollen around him. He licks his thumb, flicks it against your clit, feels you clench around his cock as you cry out once more.

He's eager to please, to take you apart just like you are him. Yet he also wants nothing more than to fuck into you without abandon, to let go of all of that pent up want and desire, and show you how long exactly he's been thinking about you, about this, about the two you together.

And maybe you want the same because you meet every one of his long hard thrusts with just as much fervor, slam your hips right back into it until the room is filled with sharp slaps of skin and little utterances of ecstasy.

“Tell me how y'want it,” he groans, snaps his hips forward, lets one hand squeeze your leg, the other pinching your clit. “Like this? Y'like it like this?”

“A-ah,” you throw your head to the side, eyes looking glassy, your breath coming in small short gasps, “Yes, please. Please, don’t stop.” 

He doesn't and neither do you, both of you finding that perfect rhythm that's just yours.

One that carries you higher, higher, so high, that it isn't long until he feels that familiar trembling in your legs again.

He bends down to suck on the hollow of your throat, where there's a fine layer of sweat pooling, the angle driving him deeper and he can feel you tense, teetering on that edge again. Your legs wind around him, hook just above his lower back, drawing him impossibly closer.

And then you fall from that precipice for a second time.

Only now you keep your eyes on him, let him watch, unashamed, as you reach completion with him buried inside you. Reach for his hand too, entwine your fingers and squeeze them tight for the duration of that little death.

It's a moment so intimate, it feels almost uncomfortable.

Nobody has ever held his hand during sex before, nobody has ever made him feel like it's actually him they want, made him feel like he's more than just a warm, solid body to fill the void.

It’s overwhelming this feeling, especially when it's you that starts moving again. Still clutching his hand, your other sliding into his hair, tugging him close, sweet words tumbling from your lips as he still feels the aftershocks of your release on you.

“You're so good to me, make me feel so amazing. Want to make you feel good too, please tell me how to,” you whisper.

And that's all he needs, is enough to make him thrust into you frantically as he goes to hide his face in your shoulder. The noises that are dragged from him, a thing he’ll surely be embarrassed about tomorrow. You moan as he spills himself inside of you, hug him close to you afterward. Stroke his back and shoulders and pepper the side of his face with kisses even after he stops shaking.

Mammon doesn't move for a long time, remains in the cradle of your body.

He didn't know that it was possible for a heart to ache with happiness.

* * *

In the morning, he wakes up surrounded by your warmth. Your arms wrapped around him, your fingers carding through his hair and his face pillowed by your breast. You’re both still naked, the room smelling of sex, sweat, and you both.

It feels like he's still dreaming.

Mammon doesn't dare to blink, too scared that the spell might be broken. By the way in which your fingers hesitate in their gentle strokes, your heartbeat stuttering beneath his ear, you must've noticed that he's awake though.

He feels afraid and he feels vulnerable. Does so, because above it all, he feels so helplessly hopeful.

He's gathering his courage to lift his head and look at you, is about to do it any second now, but then your hand leaves its place in his hair and drifts lower, tickling along his side.

He yelps, draws back, props himself up on one arm.

“Hey,” you say, grinning from ear to ear. “I always thought you might be the ticklish type.”

You look thoroughly debauched, hair looking a mess, dark make-up smudges around your eyes, and a hickey blooming low on your throat. More importantly, you don't look like you regret anything, don't look like you plan on peacing out of the room any time soon either. No. Your gaze tracks along the features of his face, taking him in just like he is you.

Mammon feels himself flush, tugs the blanket into place, suddenly very aware of his nakedness. “You tryin' to give me a heart attack so early in the mornin'?” 

“Sorry, I was…,” your eyes flit across his face, “…feeling kind of anxious, I guess.”

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards, but it can barely be called a smile with how unsure and nervous it looks.

“T-that's stupid. There's no reason to be,” he steels himself, hesitates. “Is there?”

Your smile smooths out. There's a new light sparking within your eyes, making them shine as you wiggle closer, your legs tangling with his, feet brushing along his shin.

“No. I guess there wasn't one.”

Your breath is fanning against his collarbone, your finger ghosting along his side with new intent, all the way down to his hips.

“I could make it up to you?” you whisper.

And morning breath be damned, he needs to kiss you this very second or he might go crazy, and so he does, and once again you let him.

It's unhurried, unlike yesterday. Both of you wrapped up only in each other and the sheets. And it feels as if this bed is a little world of your own making, one of only warmth and affection. The only measure of time the slow but heavy throbbing of your heart against his chest. Back in the celestial realm he would often stare at the clouds and no matter how often he reminded himself, his mind would never stop conjuring up childish fantasies of jumping onto them as if they were big balls of fluffs. He'd always imagined that it'd feel exactly like this, like being wrapped in softness. Safe, secure, perfect — the goddamn gentlest feeling he’s ever felt.

Your lips curve into a smile beneath his own and he feels himself mirroring the motion.

He's hard again, your nipples are too where they're dragging along his chest, but there's no rush now, you've got time.

It's clear to him now that you haven't gotten quite enough of him just yet.

Your kisses grind to a halt when there's a sharp knock on the door, one both of you know all too well since it doesn't ask for permission but simply announces its presence. The two of you have only a split second to spring apart, you rolling off the opposing side of the bed in panic.

Mammon succeeds in covering up his lap with a pillow just before Lucifer swings the door open. Hell, seeing that condescending look still so clear even on Satan’s delicate features only manages to piss Mammon off even more.

“Have ya ever freakin' heard of fuckin' waiting before you enter, that's what knockin' is usually for, y'know?!”

Lucifer raises a haughty brow, “I'm looking for the human, but if you're keen on trouble I'm sure that I can arrange for some time in my morning schedule.”

Mammon tries very hard for his gaze not to flick off towards the side, “H-How the hell am I 'pposed to know?! All I know is that she was gettin' enough of your constant fighting. It's really shit for her, don't ya understand?”

There's a flicker of suspicion in his brother's gaze, quickly followed by what Mammon knows to be wounded pride since Lucifer is not one to be criticized. Still, there's no retort or any form of punishment, and it's not only Satan's features that make Lucifer unreadable at that moment.

Something tugs at Mammon's heartstrings, but he refuses to feel bad for this. He hates himself for many things, but not this.

If it's him you want, he won't refuse you. Not for his brother's sake nor for your own. He won't apologize for feeling the happiest he ever did before.

The tension passes and Lucifer lets his gaze stray through the room, wrinkles his nose, sniffs, grimaces, “Seriously, are we back to that phase again? It reeks in here. Just so you know, this time I won't go through all those filthy websites and cancel all of your unpaid subscriptions.”

Blood rushes to Mammon's face and his eyes grow wide. He chucks the pillow at Lucifer, yells, “Just go!!” 

Once the door clicks shut behind him, you burst into laughter. Prop your arm up on the bed, still crouched on the floor fully naked, looking totally ridiculous as you cock your head and raise a suggestive brow at him, “Dirty sites, huh? Wanna tell me what kind of videos you looked at on there?”

“Shuddup”, Mammon mumbles, pouting.

You laugh, crawl up on the bed, “Or you could always show me directly…later though, I'm still a bit sore.”

“I…” he begins, feels himself blush, even though it's so fucking stupid to after everything you two did yesterday. He licks his lips, tries very hard to sound smooth, “I could kiss it better, if ya want me to.”

It’s you who turns shy then, the unsure tensing of your body and your nervously flickering gaze wholly unfitting for somebody who's all that is you.

You don't say no though.

And he goes on to discover that you truly taste sweet all over.

* * *

You keep smiling throughout the whole day and each time Mammon catches you doing so he can barely keep from smiling himself.

There's a part of him that wants to scream into the world that it's him who put that look on your face, that wants to hold your hand and don't let go until everyone has seen it clasped firmly in his. But then there's another, much bigger part, the one that wants every secretive smile and stolen touch just for himself. The others will meddle soon enough, he's sure of it. For now, this is just his.

Still, it fucking sucks to watch you from across the dinner table, taking in your giddy glow without being able to reach out to you.

Lucifer's rattling on about how they're supposed to meet up with him tomorrow to put a final end to the body swap issue however the hell he plans on doing that. Mammon could not care less. He's not even really listening, too busy thinking about all the possible ways in which he could get some alone time with you again.

He almost jolts when he feels something brush up to his ankle, grows very still when he realizes that it's your foot that's slowly but surely making his way up his calf. Mammon feels himself flush, darts a nervous glance around the table to see if anybody else has noticed something.

You're the picture of perfect innocence though. At least if one doesn't know you as well as he does. You can't hide the beginning of that sly smirk from him and so Mammon responds in kind, plays footsie with you beneath the table until most of his brothers go their way and it's only you, he, and Asmo left.

You shoot him little playful glances, your eyes dancing with an emotion that lets him know he isn't the only one that's already longing to be alone with you again. And perhaps it's an invitation of sorts when you excuse yourself too, a little bit too pointedly.

It very well may be, but Mammon is too busy fucking freezing to turn it over it in his mind, because there's still the insistent press of a foot against his left, even as you leave your place at the table and exit the room with another pointed glance at him.

He doesn't need to see Asmo's Cheshire cat grin to know it's there, can feel the smugness roll off of him in waves as it is.

“The next time you do that, you better be more subtle about it. Or at least make sure it's the right person's leg you're rubbing up against. It stopped being her ten minutes ago.”

“Well, why did ya respond y' giant pain in the butt?!” Mammon snaps.

Asmo smiles, shrugs, braces his chin on his clasped hands. “I guess congratulations are in order for the happy couple?”

Mammon adverts his gaze, feels oddly shy. He should be boasting by now because that’s just the kind of person he is. Should brag about how you succumbed to his charms, rub it under their noses and make them eat their words, but his mind is stuck on Asmo's wording. A couple. He's not sure if that’s what you are now, or if it's even something you could potentially want them to be, but shit doesn't he like the sound of that.

“Don't tell the others yet, can ya?” he asks.

Asmo snickers, says in a sugary-sweet voice, “Well, you've already done a great job of traumatizing poor Levi last night. He came to my room looking like he's seen a ghost, said you sounded like you were dying.”

Mammon groans, buries his face within his hands. Fucking great. Great. Of course, nothing can stay a secret around here. He wants to be pissed, but he can't even really get angry today, it's just not worth ruining his good mood over, even Asmo's attempts at teasing fall flat.

A hand settles on his shoulder, squeezes once, “I'm really happy for you. Both of you. Although I do question and worry for her taste and sanity.”

He hasn't heard his brother sound so sincere in ages. Mammon feels his throat tighten with emotion, keeps his face firmly hidden within his palms, admits, “I think she really likes me too.”

There's Asmo's tinkling laughter, one that does not contain one shred of uncertainty as he agrees, “Yes, unfortunately for her, I think so too.”

* * *

“Hey,” you whisper into his ear as you sit down behind him and Mammon tries not to tense as you wrap your arms around his middle and settle your chin on his shoulder.

It's still so alien to him these casual acts of affection, even though you're quickly trying to make a habit out of them. He can't imagine ever growing used to the sensation of your gentle warmth against him.

“You seem really excited by all this,” you say as you both look out the rattling window of the antique train, watching the changing scenery flicker by. “I thought demons spend all their time here, tempting and corrupting humans, reaping souls, you know just your run of the mill usual evil stuff.”

“Pff. Yeah, that's might have been true, once upon time.” He leans back into you, your arms around him tightening in response. “Not as much now. Humans don't really need us for that anymore, they're doin' a pretty good job at it themselves.”

You're quiet for a beat, no doubt thinking on his words.

Humans have always been fickle creatures, but this modern world carries temptations around every corner. You yourself told him about it once. Your parents' self-made demons, just as real as the ones within the Devildom, you'd said.

“Oh, then what…” you begin, fall silent as if thinking better of it.

“What did ya think the RAD was for? It's a whole bunch of garbage, nothin' but occupational therapy. The whole Devildom is lookin' more and more like the human realm. Demons strivin' to be like humans, it's fuckin' pathetic if you think of it.”

You hum in thought, “Is it really that or isn't it more that we're not that different from each other? Battling our sins, looking for a purpose…humans don't have a fixed one either, some spend their whole lives looking for one while others just end up creating one for themselves.”

“Create?” Mammon asks, craning his neck toward you.

“Yeah. It can be a passion like giving life to beautiful pieces of music and art. It can also be something altruistic like helping others or fighting for a better world. Or it's something just for oneself, traveling the world, having a successful career. Whatever the heart desires.”

“Did you find one?”

“Yes, it's a bit selfish though." You press your smile against his shoulder, not meeting his eyes as you speak quietly, “I’ve decided that I want to live my life treasuring the people dear to me, to make them happy and be happy myself. That's enough of a purpose for me.”

Mammon looks out the train's window, at the little valleys of houses, built within hills of green, thinks of the families that must live there. Thinks of the bustlings streets in London they've been to earlier, the sky-high towers of apartments, and the people who come home to each other in the evenings, getting a break from the masses, finding peace in each other's arms.

“I don't think a demon can have a purpose like that.”

“Why?” you ask, sounding bewildered, and he can feel your eyes bore into the side of his face. “You make me happy. Very much so.”

Mammon swallows around the feeling that's welling up inside him, around the words that have been poised on the tip of his tongue ever since he’s realized the truth. Still unsaid, but getting harder and harder to hold back. Earlier that dead witch Grisella had talked about fate, not too long ago he'd have laughed at the idea of it.

You don't seem to notice his inner turmoil though, because you’re rummaging around in your pocket, your chin still digging into his shoulder as you tell him in a singsong voice, “And I think I’m about to make you very happy too~”

Something is pushed into his field of vision, right in front of his nose, a small grey card with a single line of digits and human world lettering above it. Mammon's eyes narrow, then grow wide in recognition, and he turns toward you, stunned.

You give him a quick peck, grinning like crazy, “I talked Lucifer into letting us stay for a bit longer, to get a little time to explore the city when we get off at the next station. And then I’ve realized that I still have my human world credit card on me. There's not much on there, but what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't spoil my boyfriend occasionally.”

He kisses you long and hard.

At first, you giggle into it, probably thinking him dramatic, but then you seem to realize how earnest he's being, sink your hands into his hair and kiss him back just as sincerely.

He still hasn't said the words, but repeats them in his mind, over and over again. And somehow, he thinks as you draw away and look at him softly, you seem to have heard them anyway.

* * *

When it happens, it's the worst feeling he’s ever felt.

He thought that he'd never experience a similar pain to that of their fall. The moment his angel wings burned to ashes as they plummeted into darkness, muddy dark tendrils of hatred slinking their way through his blood, robbing him of all that is good, replacing it with only greed and hollow dark caverns of emptiness. He remembers the way his sin seared into him, how it singed his flesh, filled his lungs with smoke, his heart beating in terror as it blackened further with each of his sister's screams of pain and his brothers' cries of despair.

He thought that there was no way something could ever come close to that feeling.

He was wrong.

* * *

Good things never last long— no, truth is, down here there was never any room for good things in the first place.

Not for someone like you or the things you inspire, and not for the kind of silly daydream that was the few days you've spent together before everything went straight to shit. Mammon wonders how he'd been able to forget this truth, he won't do so a second time though. Not after coming this close to losing you forever.

His brothers keep looking at him like he's about to fall to pieces and you too do your best to act as if nothing has changed at all. You all seem to think that he's a ticking time bomb about to go off any second now, neither of you seem to understand that this calm is not a front.

For the first time maybe ever, Mammon's not confused or scared. For the first time maybe ever, he's not deluding himself in any way. He's seeing things with total clarity now. Knows who he is, who he'll always be. Knows his place in this world. And he knows what it is that he wants for you.

“What are you doing here,” comes a husky voice from behind, and then there’s Lucifer, settling in next to him at the blackjack table. Mammon doesn't even question how he was found, his brother is like a fucking bloodhound when it comes to sniffing him out.

“What? You're not speaking to me either?” Lucifer scoffs, “Pathetic.”

Mammon runs his finger along the flat edge of a casino's token, lets it dig into his thumb, “Did you come to mock me? Or do ya maybe want to string me up from the ceilin’ again? If so go ahead, nothin' stoppin' you from doin' so, doesn't make a difference to me anyway.”

Lucifer doesn't roll his eyes, but twists his features in a way that comes very close to it, slides a drink to him and goes on to nurse the one he brought for himself. Of course, that pretentious jerk brought whiskey neat in spite of knowing that Mammon's always been more of a long drink type. He won't give him the satisfaction though, takes a big gulp, and tries to keep from both coughing and grimacing.

For a few beats, there's only the sound of cards being shuffled, tokens clattering to the table, and the indistinct murmur of other patrons. Finally, Lucifer sighs, goes on to speak as if he's talking to a moody child, “The love of a demon is nothing but a curse. Don't act as if you didn't know differently”

Mammon's chest constricts painfully, it's not like it's untrue, and yet. “Would ya say the same…would you say the same, if it was you?”

“It's not me, is it?” comes Lucifer swift reply, not betraying anything. “So end your pity party and go talk to her.”

“It's not—, I just need some time to think—”

Lucifer snorts, “How novel.”

Mammon scowls, he's not in the mood for jokes right now. Especially not after Lucifer had his fair share in threatening you, yet here he is, apparently worried about your well-being. Shit, it's so fucked up. _They'_ re so fucked up.

“All this time, we've been thinking that she was turnin' us into somethin' better — 'n I know I'm not alone in that, I know it's something we all thought. But we just turned worse. More selfish. We're wretched inside. And she almost died because we tried to make her believe differently.”

“I offered her to return home, she didn't want to,” Lucifer raises a brow, huffs a humorless laugh into his drink. “Said that Belphegor wasn't in his right mind since I basically tortured him by holding him in captivity for so long. That everyone deserves a second chance.”

Mammon snorts, a smile fighting its way through despite himself, at Lucifer's irked expression, at how much that sounds like you. “She told ya that to your face?”

“Yes,” Lucifer says, his lips curling in discontent. He crosses his arms, “You see, you may want to protect her from us or even from yourself, but I think she doesn't want to be protected. Quite the opposite I wager.”

“It ain't like I planned on hidin' from her forever. It's just that it finally got through my head — what's best for her, I mean.”

Lucifer's brows climb higher, “And that is?”

Letting her go, he thinks but does not say, the dealer prompting his next move with what is perfect timing to evade the question.

Lucifer doesn't push either, just glances at his cards and says, “What are you going to do with that. Hit or stand?”

Mammon looks at his cards and thinks.

He's never been dealt a good hand before, but that sure as hell won't keep him from trying to win anyway.

* * *

You're already in his room when he gets back.

It's nothing short of an ambush, your features already contorting with pent-up frustration before the first words even leave your mouth, “Why are you ignoring me? You're not answering any of my texts and keep avoiding me whenever you're home. Is it because of that Lillith thing? Because I don't care about whose soul I'm a late, late descendant of. I know best who I am, what made me into the person that is standing here today!”

Mammon knows he deserves your anger. Still, he can't quite bring himself to look you in the eyes, mumbles, “I don't care about that crap. You two are nothing alike.”

He's not lying, he couldn't give a fuck about that. The whole soul business is a tricky one. After all, there are generations and myriads of souls born and then shattered, only to be glued back together in different ways and then shattered further.

It's not for nothing you humans keep talking about the concept of soulmates. Who knows maybe you and him shared fragments of what was once the same soul. Back when he still had a whole one, that is.

His answer doesn't seem to appease you though, if anything you look even more frustrated, “Well, then what it is? Because I won't leave until you tell me what the hell is going on with you!”

He locks his jaw, steels his gaze, snaps, “How much time have ya left here, huh? Until you'll return and go back to living your real life? Growing older, better, wiser …”

Your expression shifts, turns into something unreadable, there's hurt there though, that much he recognizes. He doesn’t know what to say though.

“I mean, don't get me wrong— I'd be fuckin' amazing if ya could summon me every once in a while, spend some quality time together. But I...I could never _really_ be there. You _must_ know that.”

“I've already thought about that,” you say, your voice determined despite the way your fist shakes as you ball it tight. 

You stand up straighter and it gives him a chill. It's as if he already knows that he won't like what's coming next.

“I've made my decision. I'm coming back here. I'll make a pact and return. I have a family here, I have friends here, I have _you_ here. There's nothing like that waiting for me in the human realm.” You raise your chin, say, “Fuck normal. Who wants that?”

Nonononono, you can't mean—, you can't be that stupid—

“Pact?” he echoes, a few octaves too high. “W-We already have a pact.”

“I know that there are different kinds,” you shake your head, and Mammon wonders if you can see the panic in his eyes. “What do you think I've been doing in Satan's room that day? I've been reading up on it. I'm talking about the kind of pact in which you collect a human's soul and bind them to this place.”

“Are you crazy?” Mammon explodes, his voice sounding shrill. “Y' don't know what it does to you, what this place takes from y—”

“—it won't change me! I won't let it! And if by some chance it does, then I have you guys to remind me of who I am, don't I?”

You step forwards, grasp him by the lapels of his jacket, fix him with a look that makes it clear that your mind is set. “If you won't do it, then I’ll ask the others. If they won't do it, then I’ll ask whoever. I'll ask this whole freaking realm.” 

You let go of his jacket, lift your hands to his face in that same way you did the first night you spent together. “But if I have any choice at all then I want it to be you. Can you do that for me?”

“You want me— Y'want me to take your soul?”

“Yes,” you say, huff, smile a small sad smile, “What, is it not good enough for you?”

Under normal circumstances, he'd be furious that you'd suggest that. As it is he can barely speak, “You can't be serious about this.”

“Do I look like I'm not serious?”

“I won't let ya,” it bursts out of him. “You don't belong here, you deserve better, you're too good for this place, you're—” _too good for him_.

A human life is a joke. So short. So easy to end. That little time can't be wasted, and what’s more—

“W-When the time comes, I want ya to ascend,” he says. Only realizes that his eyes are wet when you stand up on your tiptoes and kiss his eyelids, fingers rubbing soothing circles into his wrists.

Mammon shudders, melts into it. He didn't allow himself to be touched by you in this way ever since it all happened. You capture his lips, linger for a bit. Take a deep breath and whisper against them, “You can't tell me where or who I belong to. That's only for me to decide.”

“A-And besides,” you say as you draw away and search his eyes. “There's already no place for me in heaven left.”

Mammon frowns, but your lips only tug into a grin, a little bit smaller than you're usual one but just as breathtaking. “Didn’t you know? I've taken to worshipping the devil. Or well, one of his servants to be precise.”

His face warms, heart thumping hard and fast. He doesn't know how you do this. How you cut him open and stitch him back together all in one go.

“What, don't believe me?” you ask, eyes shining with mirth and something raw. “Want me to show you? Should I demonstrate my devotion?”

You take a small step back, still standing in the bubble of your shared space, take off your clothes, and let them fall to the floor between you.

When you're fully naked you hold his gaze and he holds yours, and there's nothing else he can do but look at you with everything that just happened. Your request is leaving him in a trance with how it's both all he ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter, and then also the thing he fears most, the thing he wants least for you.

He feels like he's being pushed and pulled into differing directions, and then you’re pushing him for real, down onto the bed, knock his legs apart and sink to your knees between them.

You nuzzle your face to his crotch, place your hand on his belt, then still and look up at him, and you don't have to ask because he understands what it is you want. Closes his eyes and concentrates on that which lays within until that hot rush of power surges through him, his wings fluttering into existence, letting him know that he's in his demon form.

You look pleased, your eyes shuttering to a half-close, and your hands begin to make quick work on his fly again.

Once you've got him free you rub your lips and cheek against him, lick along his hard length as if you're savoring every second of it, look at him with nothing but hunger as you swirl your tongue around the head.

Shit, it's a sight he's sure to never ever forget, you kneeling before him naked, the heavy weight of his cock settling on your tongue as you look at him that way. You only close your eyes when you wrap your lips around the head and sink your mouth down slowly. Keep them shut as you suck his cock like it’s the best thing ever, as you moan around it like you love it.

Fuck. His hands settle at the back of your head, fist your hair without any real purpose behind it, helplessly following your slow bobbing movements. You take him in all the way, your lips stretched wide as he hits the back of your throat and you swallow around him.

You keep him there until it makes you gag.

Only then you pull back slowly, your eyes fluttering open on a breathy moan as you let him fall from your mouth completely. Kiss his tip from where it juts into your bottom lip, a kiss sweet and innocent, a total contradiction to the filthy picture you make.

He still can't do anything but stare down at you, your lips wet with spit, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and one of your hands between your own legs, touching yourself. It should be the ultimate form of submission, but this isn't about that at all.

No, he thinks as you kiss, lick, suck and swallow around his cock once more, whine around it like you can't get enough of him. This is not about taking, giving, or even receiving. There are more than one way a soul can belong to another.

And he may be the Avatar of Greed, but he really didn't know anything about belonging. Not until he met you. Not until now.

He hopes to show you that he finally understands, drags you up to him, licks into your mouth as you climb on top of him, as he lets you ride him until there are no more words necessary between the two of you.

* * *

Mammon hates exams.

They're stupid and they're useless. Some fucking random number on a little piece of paper says absolutely nothing about a person if you ask him.

Yet Lucifer has threatened him so very thoroughly this time and when Mammon told you about it, you only said that you wouldn't think differently of him, no matter the score, but that you think that he could score so high it could make his brothers lose their shit if only he'd invest a little bit of time.

That was a pretty good thing to say by way of motivation. Though admittedly, the naughty games you'd thought up to reward his learning were a pretty great incentive too.

That is until both of you figured out that you weren't as much of a help in some subjects, and then arranged for him to be stuck with fucking Satan, talking his ears off about fucking literature.

Ugh.

He's reading through the same passage for the third time, the letters already beginning to blur yet again, when Satan inquires, “How's it going with the two of you?”

And Mammon may not have a clue about literature, but he recognizes a sneak attack when he sees one.

“You know, it's strange,” Satan hums. “For the last few weeks, she'd kept asking me for potential ways for a human to reside within the Devildom. I suggested several means, even a pregnancy. Mind you, not a ritualistic one, but the old-fashioned way.”

Mammon almost tumbles from his chair in shock from where he was wobbling back and forth on its legs.

Satan continues as if nothing happened, “Do you know what she said to that? _It's way too soon for that_ , she said. _Too soon,_ ha. That one could even consider you to ever be a father to another being—”

“Fuckin' get to whatever it is you wanna say,“ he barks, his face undoubtedly a bright, hot, burning shade of red.

His brother doesn't really truly try to hide his smile, and Mammon wants to snap at him, but the words stick to his throat once Satan continues talking. “Anyway, one day she stopped asking, fully out of the blue. I began to wonder and then all of a sudden, she was telling me that she found a solution to the problem.”

Mammon sits up straighter, listens very closely.

“It's a curious thing though.” Satan turns a page of his copy of the book they've been reading. “There are no traces of a demonic ownership on her soul, but she's convinced that it's claimed.”

He asks, “…did you tell her?”

“No,” Satan replies, and Mammon goes back to breathing again. “She will be furious with you if she finds out though.”

His heartbeat is slowly but steadily mellowing out, but he's still feeling a bit rattled and so the words slip out, unbidden, “Hopefully she won't, not until it's too late.”

“Well, that's one of the rare things we can agree on it seems,” says Satan, looking at him at last.

“Your friendship creeps me the fuck out,” Mammon mumbles, picks up his book again. “It's weird seein' you act so genuinely nice all the time.”

Satan shrugs. “Stranger things have happened. Like the Avatar of Greed being selfless.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, hopes it's enough to cover the newly awakening flush he feels.

Satan's still looking way too smug even after some moments pass though, and Mammon thinks, fuck it. It's about time he grows the balls to tease back a little. Clears his throat and says, “Ya know, if it ever happens though, y'should totally be the godfather. It's the least we could do after we messed around in your room that first time.”

Satan's wrath is quick to provoke, but Mammon is quicker.

* * *

Gone is the eternal dullness of days blending into each other. Now, every day is a possibility, presenting the opportunity for something new.

There's the day you stand up during breakfast, announcing to everyone that you're now officially a thing and ask his brothers for their blessings. Mammon almost sinks beneath the table from embarrassment, but it's you who earns the brunt of their jokes, and god, you look so cute all flustered, that it's actually worth the hassle. Then there's the day you first realize how much debt he really is in and it's your very first argument over something nonsensical, followed by your very first makeup sex, which leaves you screaming in something else but anger — it's also the day Levi bangs against the wall which separates your rooms and plays horrendous anime music at a volume so loud, you both have to stop what you're doing because you're laughing so hard. It comes the day he gets to be the big spoon for the first time, both of you sharing a bed without anything else happening, just a sharing of kisses, warmth, and snuggles. It's followed by the day you have your first real public outing, and you hold his hand the whole time, do not shy away from stealing the occasional kiss either, it has Mammon alternating between blushing furiously and grinning smugly. Of course, it's also that day he uploads your first couple selfie. There are mainly inappropriate comments from Asmo posted beneath it, but when he sees it set as your new screensaver his heart burst with pride all over again.

Then there's the day you first tell him that you love him, the day you tell him for the fourth and the fifth time, and then a little later, the day he stops counting.

Time passes and Mammon thinks that you won't find out after all.

In the end, it's Belphegor who tells you, just two nights before your departure. Maybe he thought that he owed you that much.

“Why did you lie to me?” you ask and you're not angry, you just sound sad. “I knew something was up…you were so weird these last few days, always looking at me as if you're already making your goodbyes.”

“I never said that I'd done it. I never once said that I've claimed your soul,” he argues back weakly.

“Oh, come on.” Your voice shakes, wavers, and you start blinking rapidly, tears gathering at your lashes. “That's just semantics.”

And he didn't expect this to become the day he sees you cry for the first time. But you cry like you do everything, honest and unafraid. Let it all out, loud and messy and unapologetic. “I don't want to, I don't want to be by myself again. I want to stay here with everyone. This is my home now. I'm happy here. With you.” You look at him, reach for his hand, your chin quivering. “I don't want this to be over.”

He clasps your hand in his, rubs the wetness from your cheek with the other. And it's not fair. How is he ever supposed to be the cool one here, if seeing you so sad makes him want to burst out in tears too?

“We don't need that kind of pact, 'kay?! B-Because we've already made an exchange. You already took somethin' of mine, ya understand?”

He lifts your joined hands, thumps them against his chest, right where his heart is.

“A-And that means that I'm not the only one who has to listen to your orders! You have to obey me too, get it?”

“Yes!” you say through your tears.

“O-Okay, then first—,” he blinks, tries to think. “My first order is, don’t be sad! Be your usual stupidly happy self!” Adds, “B-But don't forget about me either!”

“How could I?” you laugh wetly, rub the snot from your nose.

“And you betta don't leave me for the first borin' human you meet over there.”

You don't answer this time, just hug him tightly, bury your face into his chest.

He wraps his arms around you, blinks against the stinging in his own eyes, “A-And if you still feel the same way after some time back there, then—, then come back to me!”

Your reply is muffled against his chest, but you're almost shouting, “I will! My feelings won't change so easily!”

“Mine neither!” he yells, tightens his hold around you. “They're the real thing, ya hear?!”

* * *

The day you leave, he's crying like a baby. His brothers tease him to no end, but Mammon doesn't even care because those bastards are sniffling too.

You smile as you hug them, place kisses on their cheeks. This isn't a goodbye you tell them, it's a see you soon.

When it's his turn, you kiss him. A press of lips, so soft, so loving, it feels both like a little self-contained eternity and like it's over way too quick.

You draw away, settle your mouth by his ear, whisper, “Satan already told me all about marital rituals, so you better be prepared next time I find my way back here.”

And Mammon is and has always been greedy and stupid, and as such there are many deals he regrets making. He can't ever imagine regretting this one though. You offering the remainder of your life to him, shit, he would give it all for that, would trade in eternity if it was possible. 

He hiccups, sobs, “You betta buy me a fancy-ass ring then, human.”

* * *

Once you're gone, Mammon doesn't stop wanting or longing, not even for a second. But for once it's a yearning that doesn't make him feel empty at all.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! 
> 
> I really poured my heart into taking the perspective of Mammon. I think this character deserves all the love and I really hope that I could do him justice. 
> 
> Feedback and comments would be very much appreciated. 
> 
> I'm not a native speaker and this work is not beta read, so please tell me if anything sounds off so that I can fix it accordingly.


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